


Hymenated - The Fates

by forlovedones



Series: The Hymenated Series [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Dean Winchester, BAMF Sam Winchester, Bottom Sam Winchester, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Curses, Drunk Sam Winchester, Episode: s06e17 My Heart Will Go On, Episode: s08e16 Remember the Titans, F/M, First Time, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending, Genderswap, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Mystery, Post-Season/Series 08, Talk about mpreg, Top Dean Winchester, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23017582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forlovedones/pseuds/forlovedones
Summary: The Fates are back, and after Winchester blood.  Also, Sam has a secret he's pretty sure he'll have to keep till his Hunter's Pyre in order to save the world from yet another Apocalypse.  And Dean's totally cool with that. Yup.Teaser:Clotho spoke and she had multiple voices, terrible and fierce, booming low and rich with power.“Winchesters.  You have decimated the fate and futures of Earth, Hell, and now Heaven itself. For these crimes and for your insolence in the face of the Immortal Gods, I lay a curse on your family.  You, through selfishness and deceit, have waylaid the End of Days... but your sons will free the Arch Angels from their cage and reweave the tapestry of fate for all mortality."Your love for each other outweighs your love for the future and the world. Now that love will be your destruction.”(Part of a series of oneshots that all have a very specific kink: canon-compliant Winchesters with magical girl bits. No boobs, no cross dressing, just the lower fun parts. ... Yes I am ashamed. Enjoy! :D)
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: The Hymenated Series [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1364644
Comments: 6
Kudos: 77





	Hymenated - The Fates

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Case Fic, so buckle up for some hunting! 
> 
> Set after Season 8, with a small canon divergence: Sam just almost died during the Trials, but he isn't sick after, and there's no Gadreel or Crowley or Cas... just Sam and Dean. You might also keep in mind what Cas said during that Titanic episode in season 6:
> 
> CASTIEL: I wanted you to know who Fate really is. She's cruel and capricious.
> 
> DEAN: I'd go so far as "bitch."
> 
> CASTIEL: Well, yeah.
> 
> Ready for my longest fic yet? Okay, ready set go!

Sam was looking for cases on the laptop while Dean ordered them both food at the bar. Sam let him. Apparently the Trials had really spooked his brother, and Sam didn't mind a little coddling if it helped Dean's peace of mind.

Dean came back with a pitcher of dark beer, glasses, and too much food. ‘Coddling Sam’ seemed to call for an extra wings-and-veggies appetizer, but not for prohibition. Dean Logic.

“Man put that away.” Dean shoved at Sam's laptop with the pitcher. It's true their tiny booth didn't really have room for it all. Sam folded it up and Dean promptly put a plate on top of it. “Eat.”

Sam chewed a celery stick. “It’s weirdly quiet out there. No more angel activity since the Fall.”

“Good. I’ve had enough of angels. And demons. And everything else that goes bump in the night.” It seemed Dean might actually mean it this time.

Well… Sam hadn’t actually found a case during his search, so he decided to let it pass for now. “Yeah, okay.”

Dean dropped into his bench seat and gave his brother a stern look. “I mean it, Sam. The Trials nearly killed you. This life nearly killed you, again. We’re taking a back seat for this one.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam repeated as he chewed, thinking about using his phone to search instead. He reached for the beer that Dean had just poured for him.

It wasn’t there.

Surprised, he overshot and his hand came down on the handle of a steak knife that was hanging over the edge of the plate. It flipped through the air with alarming speed, burying itself two inches deep into the back of the vinyl booth seat by Dean’s head.

Dean yelped “Holy hell!” and jumped up. He jostled the table on his way, and his neat whiskey spilled all over everything. Sam instinctively reached to save his laptop. He only just saw the frayed wires poking out of his charging cable in time to jump up himself. The laptop and pool of alcohol sparked unexpectedly loud and bright, then the whole thing lit on fire.

They stared for two long seconds. Then Sam turned to scan the bar, knowing what he was looking for.

There was an old woman in a shawl staring at them by the back wall. Her long gray hair was actually blowing in a non-existent wind. Sam nudged Dean. They both watched as the woman left through a back door.

“Witch?” Dean muttered.

“I don’t think so. Let’s go. Carefully.” They both left just as a busboy started trying to put out the fire.

The back of the bar outside looked out on a few trees, then some open farmland. The woman was standing yards away, facing them. She had a long, crooked nose and large gray eyes. She held a staff now; it had a ball of something shiny near its head, and a pointed tip. She held it in front of her with both hands.

Dean took out his gun. Sam didn’t think it would help.

A great wind picked up, making both Winchesters flinch. Then the old woman rose up into the air, feet off the ground, and her hair blew into a halo around her head. Their vision distorted and it looked like she had multiple faces flashing one over the other.

She spoke and she had multiple voices, terrible and fierce, booming low and rich with power. “Winchesters. You have decimated the fate and futures of Earth, Hell, and now Heaven itself. Your actions have destroyed that which is Holy and immutable. For these crimes and for your insolence-”

Dean fired his clip into her, loud bangs till it clicked empty.

It did no good. A dark aura rose from her and even the porchlight seemed to dim around them. They couldn’t move.

“-for your insolence in the face of the Immortal Gods, I lay a curse on your family. You, through selfishness and deceit, have waylaid the End of Days. But your sons will free the Arch Angels from their cage and reweave the tapestry of fate for all mortality.”

The darkness was nearly unbearable now, the pressure building in Sam’s skull. He could barely hear her over the boom of the wind and the distortion of her multiple voices. He clung to consciousness.

“Your love for each other outweighs your love for the future and the world. Now that love will be your destruction.”

There was a crack of thunder, and Sam felt something seep through his body like light through a clouded glass, then he fell to the gravel below.

\---

Sam woke up to a firefighter dragging him away from the burning building. He rolled over, and immediately knew what the croan had done to him, and why. It was impossible... but true.

“Sir, are you alright?”

Sam sat up and looked around. There was an ambulance, firetruck, and cop car parked on the far end of the building, lights flashing red and blue. The fire was pouring out the windows now. Firefighters were everywhere with hoses, trying to put it out. His eyesight swam a bit but he didn't think he was injured. It was most likely shock.

“Dean,” he called, almost on autopilot. There was an EMT by his brother, who looked like he was still out cold.

“Sir, please don't move. You might have a head injury.”

The firefighter had both hands on Sam’s shoulders, trying to push him back into a reclined position, but Sam could barely feel the pressure compared to his sudden fear. He got to his feet, shrugged the firefighter off, and crossed over to his brother. “How is he?”

“He’s unconscious, but his breathing is stab-”

Dean chose that moment to gasp deeply and shoot up into a sitting position himself. Sam crouched next to him, not sure if it was a conscious move or if his knees just gave out. “Dean?”

“Oww,” Dean complained, touching the back of his head. His fingers came away clean – no blood, that was good.

Two more EMTs were back with a stretcher. An officer was interviewing the busboy. Sam saw Dean calculate the situation quickly, then shrug Sam and his own EMT off. “I’m fine.”

It took another hour to get out of there. They had to refuse medical aid at least twenty times, fill out insurance forms, fill out police reports, and generally lie out of their asses: they didn’t know how the fire started, they couldn't remember anything about any gunshots, they weren't publicly intoxicated, etc.

The officers were obviously suspicious, but had nothing to hold them on.

They didn't really talk until they were back in their hotel, packing.

“What the hell was that?” Dean barked, half angry and half confused. “What happened?”

“I don't know,” Sam lied.

“No seriously, what the hell – that was obviously a trap right? And we definitely weren't winning.” Dean dropped a packed duffle on the bed and went to use the toilet. “And my kill-all-clip didn’t even phase her!”

Dean’s kill-all-clip was his clever name for the clip of bullets he kept in his gun most of the time these days. It held a variety of bullets in it, including silver ones, consecrated rounds, and witch killers.

“That’s because she wasn’t a witch.”

“Then what the hell was she?”

“I think we just met Clotho.”

Dean spoke while doing his standing business over the toilet. “Clotho… you mean one of the three Fate sisters?”

“Yeah.” Sam went in the bathroom too and packed his toiletries, trying to be subtle about peeking.

Dean zipped up and flushed. “Whatever. We'll figure it out once we're out of here. Need the throne?” He gestured at the toilet.

Sam shook his head, jaw clenched.

“Then let's split before more assholes show up.” Dean went to grab their bags.

“Dude, wash your hands!”

\---

Sam checked his internal clock. Based on what he knew he expected to feel different, about Dean, but he didn't. Everything felt the same. What did that mean?

“You sure you're okay there Sammy?” Dean asked, glancing over. They were halfway to Kansas by now, the Impala eating up the miles as smoothly as ever.

Sam opened his eyes. “I'm fine.”

“Really? Cuz you seem out of it. Is it your head?” Dean reached over to feel the back of Sam's head for a lump.

Sam would have usually batted the hand away, but let him this time, calculating. Nope, no difference. “I don't think I hit my head. She just knocked us out.”

“Huh.” Dean bopped the back of Sam's head, the jerk, then let his arm fall. “Why didn’t she just kill us? Her prophecy or curse or whatever was bogus. It’s not like either of us are actually gonna have kids.”

“Yeah.” There was a gloomy silence. Sam could tell Dean was momentarily bummed by the finality of that statement, though he’d never admit it. Sam was chewing on a different worry. “Still… the Fates. That's a big fish. I know you wanted to take a break but…"

“Yeah.”

They were silent again, both contemplating the task ahead of them.

Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Do we even stand a chance? I mean Cas at full power didn't even toast one of them, and there are three.”

Sam shrugged. “We'll see. We didn't have the bunker before. Maybe the archives will have some info.”

“Yeah. Cuz it's looking like we won't have a choice now. They want the apocalypse back, and something tells me they aren't going to just give up.”

“...You're right. But this is Fate. What can we do?”

Dean seemed to be steeling his resolve. “What we always do. Whatever it takes.” Then he turned on the radio, searching for a good rock station.

Sam fought the urge to mock. Yeah, right. Easy for him to say.

\---

Dean thought something was up, he just couldn't figure what.

They both spent days in the bunker's archives, researching. Dean was seeing double trying to get through yet another Men of Letters book on the Greek Pantheon.

Sam though... he usually put more effort into research than Dean, but this time it was getting ridiculous. He worked through every meal, leaving it to Dean to keep them fed. He was still up when Dean crashed for the night, and looked like he hadn't moved when Dean got up. He wasn't even running his usual marathons in the morning. It was unusual, considering they were both alive and had no real deadline on this hunt.

Plus, Sam was acting cagey. Something about the way he gave Dean certain books to research while keeping others for himself. And the way he paused before replying to Dean's questions, and typed up pages of notes without sharing with the group. Not entirely odd, really, but it was something. Probably. Maybe.

“So get this,” Sam said, cutting through Dean's thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“We might not have to kill them.”

Dean took a second to follow that. “What?”

“Yeah. The problem is there are three of them, right? And they can stop time?”

“Yeah, obviously. Nevermind how to find them in the first place.”

“Right. Well they are gods–or well maybe. Apparently God made them, to regulate Fate, but they don't really act like angels either, and have a completely different power set-”

“Sam.”

“Right, yeah… but we might not have to kill them. We can de-power them instead.”

Dean was sceptical. “Really? Because everything I'm reading says they're unstoppable. That ‘even Zeus is below them’ and other crap.”

“Yeah. But they use tools. Look.” He pulled up a folder on his new laptop and opened the gallery he'd been saving, images of the three sisters in various statues and paintings. “Some lore says it's a spindle, others a loom or tapestry, but they have to use these to control fate. To create destinies.”

“Create destinies? I thought those just existed.”

“Yeah they do, sort of. It's more like manipulation.”

Dean shut his own book. “You lost me.”

“Okay…” Sam leaned forward. “It's like with Chuck. When we first found out about prophets. He was writing our futures before they happened.”

“Yeah.”

“You kept trying to change it and things kept happening just like he said they would.”

“Only because you're a stubborn ass,” Dean muttered.

Sam continued. “But they weren't set in stone. Eventually you made a choice that stuck, and changed our futures. If only a little.”

“Right. So?”

“So that was your free will. It seems that only two things can alter destinies: free will, and the Fate's golden threads, which God supposedly gave them to help counteract free will. Combine that with _their_ free will and they're able to manipulate the outcome, as long as they stick to the big picture. Like killing off individuals that piss them off or-”

“Or changing who stars in the apocalypse showdown, us or our hypothetical kids.”

“Right, exactly.”

“But if we destroyed their weaving tools or whatever…”

“They'd lose that power. They'd be stuck with a world ruled by free will instead.”

“Awesome,” Dean said with relish. “So how do we search and destroy?”

Sam sighed through his nose. “No idea.”

“Less awesome. But it's a start.”

\---

“Dude!” Sam nearly squawked, and grabbed at his towel.

“Chill, princess. Just forgot my phone.” Dean crossed to the sink trough. Their communal showers were huge, but pretty open. A remnant of the 50's, probably.

Sam tightened the towel around his waist. “What, you forgot how to knock too?” Then stormed out with his pile of clothes to finish dressing in his room.

“Fussy bitch,” Dean snarked.

\---

“Got it!” Dean slammed down his book.

Sam jumped, startled. He's been staring blankly at his computer for a while now. “What?”

“We can track them.”

“What?” Sam stood and came over. “How?”

Dean gestured at his open book. “It's a tracking spell. See, the problem is we don't really know what they are right? We know how to summon most gods, angels, or demons – but these chicks, there's no record that we can find.”

“Right.”

“But this spell,” Dean flourished at his book, “the _‘tempus discidium venandi’_ , it doesn't track them, it tracks what they do.”

Sam picked up the book. “The Time Disruption Hunter?” he translated.

“Yeah. Cas said they do their business by freezing time, changing something, then watching it play out right? Well this will tell us when and where they do that.”

Sam was skimming the instructions. “This could work…”

“Could? It's not that tough a spell, we have most of it already!”

“Yeah but… let's say we do find them. Then what?”

Dean tried not to look too eager. “Well, they're super powered, and can stop time and use anything in the room to kill us. So I'm thinking blitz style's our only hope.”

“Blitz.”

“Yeah. Surprise attack, straight for their loom or whatever.”

“But we don't know how to destroy that either.”

“Right. So we really shouldn't take any chances. Full fire power, right from the start.”

“Full fire p–oh come on.”

“What?”

“The grenade launcher, really? You want to bring a grenade launcher to fight the Fates.”

“So?”

“So? So–they killed a lady with a printer, and a guy with his garage door! What do you think they could do with grenades?”

“All I know is TNT beats gold threads and spindles. You got any better ideas?”

\---

They were five hours away from Frederica, Delaware, and decided to stop for the night to regroup. They had been chasing the Fates for a week now with their location spell. They were at a _Miller's_ for a ‘quick dinner’ because it was right next to their hotel, but really Dean was there for two kinds of beef. It could be his last night on earth before he was killed by a pencil or a falling piano or something, after all. Dean eyed the curves of a particularly well endowed Eagles fan, filling out her dark green jersey nicely. Dean fingered his beer glass.

Sam of course was on the tablet, working. “We'll have to cast the spell again tomorrow. They seem to work in one area for a while before changing location again, but we'll want to be sure.” He took a drink of his iced tea.

Iced tea, really?

Sam continued. “The problem is I can't pin down what they're doing in Frederica. As far as I can tell there's nothing supernatural going on within fifty miles of there. Not a single accidental death in the past two weeks.”

Dean hmm'ed in reply. The girl at the bar wasn't alone, she had a group of girlfriends in jerseys with her. He stood up.

Sam was still talking. “I guess we'll start at the- hey. Hey where are you-?”

Dean drained his beer and thumped the glass down. “What? We have time, right?”

Sam looked past him at the bar, and sighed. “Yeah I guess. No uh, no deadline.”

“Awesome. Don't wait up.”

Sam looked down at his rabbit food. “Yeah.”

Dean shifted to go, then shifted back. “What.”

“What?” Sam looked up.

“What is it? You've been mopey for days.” Sighing and researching and biting Dean's head off.

“What? Nothing.” Sam was doing that weird thing with his eyebrows that he probably thought made him look innocent. Maybe to someone other than his live-in-each-other's-pockets brother.

A cheer rang out from the bar, by the tv. Dean glanced over.

“Really man, have at it. I'll see you tomorrow.” Sam went back to his dinner and his tablet.

Right. This barely ever worked but it was time to try again. Dean was back in ten, and thumped down a pitcher. “Sammy! This is Rebecca,” he squeezed his arm around his girl's waist, “and her friend Marcy.”

“Hey,” Marcy said, leaning on their small bar table, into Sam's space.

Sam jumped up, like something had bit him. And tipped over their pitcher on the way up, the spazz. “Dean-”

“Woah, hey!” Dean laughed.

Sam rescued the tablet just in time. “Dean, come on!” he snapped.

Dean felt his grin slipping. “What? Jeez man–I'm not talking about a bender, just have a beer with us huh?” Said beer was currently spilling onto the floor.

Sam huffed out a breath, obviously losing his cool. “I'll see you tomorrow.” He slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked off.

\---

Dean banged his way into their hotel room an hour later. Sam pretended to be asleep. Maybe something was different after all, inside him. It was hard to tell.

\---

Sam was in the shower. Dean looked at the clock. It was past six. Seriously? Why did Sam let him sleep in?

Dean sat up and looked around. No Lance Armstrong jogging shorts or tennis shoes around. Sam hadn't gone jogging, again?

And the iced tea. Come to think of it, Sam hadn't even had a beer in weeks as far as Dean could remember. Not even in the bunker, where they all drank beer like water. Which it was.

Was he sick?

Dean decided it was time for desperate measures. He slid out of bed, over to Sam's stuff piled on an armchair. He stood there in his boxers, working up the nerve, then opened the duffle.

Socks. Jeans. Flannel. A rattle, probably his Aspirin. He felt deeper. Here we go… a box. He pulled it out.

The shower shut off. He heard Sam get out and towel off. Dean should really shove the box back in, cover his tracks. But why the hell would Sam have a box of tampons?

Sam unlocked the door and came out fully dressed, toweling his hair, his shirt nearly soaked through. “Good you're up, we-” He stopped.

Dean turned to look at him, thinking absently that they never locked the bathroom door.

Sam dropped his arms. “That's my bag.”

They both looked at each other. Five years ago, this would have flown straight into a shouting match, if not an all out brawl. Now, though…

Dean held up the cardboard box. “What's this?”

“What's it look like?” Sam answered.

Dean's jaw tightened. “I mean… why do you have it?”

“Bullet wounds,” Sam replied.

“Bullet–what?” Dean looked incredulous.

“They expand to fill the hole and-”

“I know that Sam–we have pressure dressings for that!”

Sam shrugged. “Some girl gave them to me, I kept ‘em.”

“Some girl? Who?”

Sam turned to get his shoes. “Whatever Dean, throw them out if you want.”

Dean dropped the box back down.

“So? Why were you in my duffle?”

“Borrowing underwear. Mine's all dirty,” Dean lied boldly, daring Sam to retort.

“Yeah sure.” Sam reached into the bag, grabbed a pair and tossed it at Dean. Dean caught it automatically. Sam zipped his bag shut. “Be quick, we have a spell to cast.” He went out to the Impala to get ingredients.

\---

The tracking spell resonated over their map of the city and wrinkled the whole thing in a series of circular ripples that focused on one building.

“The hospital?” Dean exclaimed.

“Makes sense. I mean there’s a lot of fate playing out in hospitals, right?”

“Yeah Sam, but how are we supposed to implement a full-scale surprise attack in a building packed to the rafters with civilians?”

Sam sighed. “We don’t.”

\---

“This isn’t going to work,” Dean muttered.

“It’ll work; this hospital has a few dozen residents and even more interns. We just have to play dumb and blend in.”

They were currently in one of the hospital’s restrooms changing into scrubs with badges Sam had whipped up based on facebook photos posted by local nurses.

“No not that,” Dean snapped, “this suicidal recon mission. Even if we can spot one of the sisters in this crowd we’ll never be able to follow her unnoticed.”

“Well we’ll have even less of a chance sitting outside. This is our only move.”

“Yeah, but…” Dean came out of his bathroom stall in pale blue scrubs with prints of cartoon puppies all over the shirt, strapping his angel blade to his ankle. “Sam, getting exploded or stabbed or crushed is one thing, but this place... I don’t wanna go out like Scarface. Or Freddy.”

“Freddy… Mercury?” Sam came out of his stall in seafoam green scrubs with prints of cartoon band-aids. He looped a stethoscope around his neck.

“Yeah man. You know we don’t actually have health insurance.”

“That’s dark, Dean. And we do.”

“We do what?”

“We have real health insurance. I mean it’s registered and paid for under false IDs but it’s the whole package. Full coverage.”

“Really?” Dean was surprised.

“Yeah. With the number of burgers you eat? After all the times I’ve saved your ass I’m not losing you to heart failure.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Bitch.”

\---

Sam told Dean to start on the first floor and work his way up, and said he would start on the top and work his way down. But he didn’t. When he got on the elevator, he scanned the floor directory, then pushed _Floor 4 - Maternity Ward._

The elevator dinged as it passed each floor. He felt naked without any weapons, and wondered again if his plan was such a good idea.

It was. He needed more information; this was his only move.

Once out of the elevator he needed to get buzzed into the maternity ward. He accomplished it by pretending to read a clipboard until someone exited, and holding the door for a couple on their way out, the woman large and round and barely walking. Sam tried not to stare too directly, and forced himself to smile.

Once in, he went straight to the lobby and took a seat. Modern maternity wards aren’t like they’re portrayed on TV – there was no room full of babies in glass cribs, just a small lobby with a receptionist and a hallway full of rooms with shut doors. Sam sat, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long.

A middle aged woman with black hair exited one of the rooms softly. She wore conservative but trim business attire with a pencil skirt and button up blouse, and a doctor’s white robe overtop. She also looked just a bit too perfect with her long black hair partially pinned on her head and the rest falling in ebony waves down her back. But the biggest give away was the folding slide ruler she held in one hand.

Sam stood and walked to her, stopping a few feet away. “Lachesis.”

Lachesis smiled, and turned. “Sam Winchester. Hello.”

“Here alone? I thought Clotho would be here too.”

Lachesis tucked a perfect lock behind her ear. “That’s a common misconception. Clotho’s spinning starts at conception, sometimes before. By this point,” she gestured to the maternity ward around them, “the thread is already spun. I am simply here to measure it.”

“And manipulate it,” Sam accused.

She nodded. “Within my limits.”

The silence was heavy between them. A baby was crying in a room down the hall.

“Are you going to kill me?” Lachesis asked, curious.

“...No. I came unarmed.”

She looked surprised. “Really? After what Clotho did?”

“I need answers. Besides, I know you won’t attack me. It isn’t part of the plan, right? You need me alive.”

“True, they do.”

“So you’re saying you aren’t part of it?”

“Yes.” She slid her folding ruler into a pocket inside her lab coat. “I’m going to be honest with you, Sam. I enjoy the future you and Dean have created.”

“What, without an apocalypse?” he said, disbelieving.

“Yes. Do you know what my job is now? All of the threads in the world have been left to weave themselves. All my measurements are now indefinite. It’s… liberating. Like finally being able to read a book without knowing how it ends.”

“But your sisters don’t agree?”

“They’re more focused on the beginning and the end. Never the middle.”

Sam hesitated, but he had to ask. “What they have planned for me… is it… already done?”

She looked surprised, then laughed softly. “Oh Sam, you poor man. No. Not even they have that power; only God does.”

Sam took a big, shaky breath. He hadn’t realized how much knowing that would relieve him. “Then it’s never going to happen. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Perhaps. But I will warn you, Sam... Atropos’ shears, whose edges you have experienced before, are sharp and unyielding. But Clotho’s spindle is more powerful still. She is the oldest; she has more power to influence the beginning, middle, and end of a mortal’s life than Atropos and I combined. And she is clever. It is she who gave Man the power to inscribe with written words.”

“Then what should I do?”

“I don’t know.” She smiled endearingly. “I wouldn’t even attempt to measure your fate anymore Sam Winchester, nor that of your brother. Your twined strings were meant to be the last weft in the golden tapestry of mortal history, and you knotted the whole thing up instead.” She chuckled. “It’s beautiful.”

“Then help us,” Sam reasoned, nearly begged. “Or at least tell me where they are.”

“I can’t. Sam. Do you know what I do? I visit children with herculean destinies.” She faced the room she’d just exited. “This child was born with a heavy amount of fateful influence; he will do something to change the world, or our perception of it.

"For example... let’s say he grew to be a great medical researcher. He could either perfect the science behind viral DNA manipulation to cure all genetic diseases, or create a weaponized racial targeting disease to decimate entire cultures. Because of you and your brother I could prophecy of both, and neither, and be correct. I measured, but his string is too wild to pull straight. All I could do now,” she said while gesturing with her fingertips, “was smooth his golden thread with my fingers to help ease his way... as I once did with yours.”

Sam made eye contact with her, surprised. He didn’t know how to respond to that.

Lechesis continued. “So no, I don’t know how to help you now. But you have your will, and your brother, both much stronger than the mere whims of Fate." She laid a hand on his shoulder. He could feel her power in his bones. "All I can do is warn you: most outcomes I foresee don't end in favor of my sisters or you… they end in death." Then she walked past him, and between one blink and the next she was gone.

\---

Dean stormed into their hotel room and slammed the door. “What the hell Sam? You disappeared! You… what are you eating?”

“Salmon sashimi,” Sam said with relish around his mouthful.

Dean gagged. “In Delaware? Besides the fact that that's _raw fish_ –we're three thousand miles from fresh salmon Sam!”

Sam picked up the last piece from his to-go container with his fingers and chewed it blissfully. “It's good.”

“You're disgusting.” Dean threw down his pack. “Well I got nothing from that recon mission. You?”

“Zilch.” Sam threw his containers in the small hotel trash. “Let's go. I wanna get drunk.”

“What? Really?” Dean was shocked.

Sam grabbed his jacket and wallet. “Yeah. There's a bar around the corner.” As he passed Dean, Dean grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Okay. What's going on. Are you feeling okay?” Dean felt Sam's forehead, like he was looking for a fever.

Sam laughed and shrugged away. “I'm fine, Dean. Let's go.”

Dean peered at him, then muttered, “Christo.”

Sam laughed most of the way to the bar.

\---

Sam ordered rare steaks for both of them, beer fries, a pitcher of Blue Moon, two neat whiskeys, and a fruit smoothie. Dean hurried to add on a baked potato, extra bacon. He couldn’t stop staring at Sam.

“What?” Sam quipped.

“Nothing,” Dean said casually, “there’s nothing out of the ordinary about any of this. I’m just wondering if you have tapeworm or something.”

Sam laughed again. “Naw man it’s just – I know I’ve been acting like an ass lately.” He took a gulp of whiskey, and exhaled through the burn. “I’m just trying to make it up to you.”

“Serious?”

“Yeah.”

Dean grinned. “Well… alrighty then.”

\---

Two hours later they’d moved on to tequila and playing pool. Sam didn’t have to pretend to be drunk – he was. His cue scuffed the felt again and he giggled.

Dean was laughing at him. “Come on, Sam. You’re rusty.”

“Shhhhush. You’re bossy.” Sam lined up again and at least managed to hit his ball this time.

Dean tutted and went for his turn. Three, four, five stripes sunk. Some girls clapped. Dean wiggled his ass at them as he lined up his next shot, and missed.

Sam rolled his eyes, sunk one himself, then missed. It took him a second to realize it was because Dean had bumped the back of his cue. It took him a second more to realize Dean had been doing that the whole game. “Cheap–cheating bastard!” Sam slurred, and tried to push him. Dean must have dodged, because Sam ran into the table instead. Sam heard the balls chink and knew that was game.

“That’s game,” Dean confirmed. “You know the drill. Three solids left, three shots of – what is it now? – Ugh gross, ‘Blowjobs’.”

Sam squinted at the tray of shots. Three foaming dark brown nightmares. He shook out his shoulders, took two deep breaths, and swallowed them down one, two, three. Dean whooped and clapped him on the shoulder. Sam coughed. “Tastes like ass!” He washed it down with tequila.

“Hey.” A girl came over. Straight blonde hair, glasses, small cute chin. “Can I play winner?” She had a competitive smile for Dean.

Dean’s grin spread.

Sam decided he wouldn’t put up with that today. “Sorry ladies, he’s taken.”

“I’m what?”

Sam grabbed Dean by his belt, pulled him close, and laid one on his mouth. That left traces of whipped cream on Dean’s shocked face, so Sam licked it up, and kept licking his way into that open maw for a nice, slow slide on Dean’s tongue.

Perfect. Sam licked his lips.

He let go of Dean’s belt and patted his cheek. “Bathroom.” He tottered over to the back of the bar and waffled a moment between the two bathroom options before finally selecting the correct one, laughing at his own joke.

Dean handed him his jacket when he came back out, and the two of them left.

\---

Dean helped Sam out of his boots. By the time he was done Sam had gotten himself stuck in his flannel while pulling it over his head, so Dean helped him out of that too.

Sam’s hair was fluffed around his face.

Dean was closer than he’d meant to be, leaning forward on the bed. “So what was all that about, huh?”

Sam blinked up at him. “S’fun.”

Dean pushed some of the hair out of Sam's face before he ate it. “Oh yeah. A blast. Great finale.”

Sam laughed. He sat forward and pecked Dean’s mouth. "You liked it."

Dean stared into Sam's face. "What is up with you, man?"

To his surprise, Sam glanced away, then looked up shyly through his bangs at Dean.

That's all it took for Dean's pulse to pick up. Dean hesitated just a moment, then slid a hand into Sam's hair, tilted his head and leaned in himself, his eyes closed, and led the next assault with gentle pressure and light kisses. Sam was panting, just a bit, and had his fingers looped in a couple of Dean’s buttons.

Dean gently pushed Sam to lie on his back on the bed, trying not to overthink it. He put one knee between Sam’s open legs and bent down to connect with him again, being gentle, gentle, testing the waters. Sam made a small noise into Dean’s mouth and arched up, his crotch pressing into Dean’s thigh. Dean let him, and ran a few fingers through Sam’s hair as he eased his brother’s mouth open and slid inside, in and out, slow and careful and so gratifying. Feeling like maybe now he’d finally be able to express how much he loved this kid, in a way he’d never thought to do it before. He pushed his own groin down into Sam’s flat stomach and felt arousal flooding his system as he considered it, really considered it. Another hump. And another.

Sam was practically squirming under him now, hugging his knees around Dean’s thigh, using that grip to gently rock his crotch against it. Dean pushed down again and the two of them shifted together for long minutes while Dean got his fill of Sam’s taste. Sam was definitely moaning now.

Dean pulled back to breathe. He reached for Sam’s belt, then stopped. He felt over Sam’s crotch with a palm – making Sam moan again – and noticed the whole area was still soft and squishy. Dean, meanwhile, thought he might be able to hammer nails.

Too drunk to get it up. Too drunk to consent, Dean chastised himself. And what was he planning to do anyway?

Feeling ashamed, Dean reluctantly pulled away. Sam protested, but didn't put up a fight as Dean got him under the covers and turned off the lights.

\---

Sam let long, painful waves of regret crash through him as he dry heaved into the hotel toilet. His head was pounding. And he kept going over in his head exactly where he went wrong. Lachesis had given him such good news that he'd wanted to celebrate, and in doing so had almost made his biggest mistake yet.

Looks like he was back to abstinence again. Yay.

He just couldn't believe it was necessary. What had happened with… with Dean was…

Well he hadn't thought it was a possibility.

It still wasn’t. Dean had been drunk too, obviously, otherwise he never would have… well. Sam would just have to be more careful. Just in case.

\---

Dean could hear Sam in the bathroom as he came back from his breakfast run. “Hey Sammy! I've got a deep fried ashtray for you here!”

Sam groaned into the toilet.

Dean chuckled. He came into the bathroom and started lining things up on the sink counter. “Here: aspirin, coffee, and a couple nice plain bagels for your poor tumtum kiddo.”

“Thanks.” Sam finally flushed and stood up, rinsing his mouth in the sink and spitting.

Cool. Pampering, check. Dean stayed nearby, a bit fidgety. Casual, casual. “You were really crazy last night. You're not a kid anymore you know.”

“And who was it that kept giving me shots?” Sam said around his toothbrush.

So Sam did remember some of it.

“Hey you know the rules: you lose, you drink.”

“Yeah, right. You're the one that's gonna have to donate a kidney if you do that to me again.”

Dean thought about asking, thought about probing. Then shoved Sam's hair in his face. “Oh quit whining, you're fine.” He walked back into the main room. “So what's the plan today?”

Sam followed, nursing his coffee and wincing as it blended with the mint of his toothpaste. “I doubt they're still in that hospital. We'll have to think of a new plan.”

\---

They’d tried the spell again, but it gave no results. No recent time manipulations anywhere in the state. And they were running low on supplies.

Sam had decided that meant they hadn’t read enough, so here they were at some University library slowly unshelving every book from Apollo to Zeus.

Dean was supposed to be reading _Aeschylus, Eumenides_. Instead, he was watching Sam chew on a nail as he read. He was pretty sure Sam had forgotten last night. He would have said something by now, right? Not saying something was kind of killing Dean.

He thought again about that shock when Sam had first grabbed his belt.

The rush when Sam had licked into his mouth.

Sam cleaned under the nail with his teeth. Even that was getting Dean a bit riled.

Maybe Dean couldn’t leave this alone. Maybe he didn't want to. Maybe…

Maybe what?

Well maybe he could… find some other way. Like… maybe find a girl that wouldn’t mind some sharing?

That wasn’t a bad idea. Maybe if he could get Sam drunk again?

Like last night, so loose limbed and responsive. Dean could get him hard next time, he was sure of it, now that he knew. And okay it was new ground but Dean was a natural at this sort of thing, right? Right.

“Dean,” Sam said reproachfully without looking away from his book. Dean started, like maybe Sam might be able to tell what he was thinking. “You’re supposed to be reading.”

“I am,” Dean said, lifting his book again.

“You can stare at co-eds after we’ve ganked Clotho, okay?”

It took Dean a second to get that. Co-eds?

Oh yeah. Now that he looked… quite a few young things around. He hadn’t noticed.

\---

Sam was starting to feel a bit desperate. Three days of research, three days of hedging Dean’s restlessness and using up every search term he could think of, pouring through obscure mythological articles, trying to translate old manuscripts that had already been translated three times before being printed and bound and scanned, when every nuance mattered so damn much-

“Sam!”

Sam jumped and looked up from their tiny motel table. He had the feeling that wasn’t the first time Dean had called his name.

Dean had his jacket on, both hands on the back of the chair he had been sitting in himself until recently. “Get up. We’re going out.”

“Dean…” Sam wiped a hand down his face. “I told you. We can’t. If Clotho hunts us down again- starts another fire-”

“Like hell,” Dean butt in. “Look. We’ve used up a tree’s worth of maps. Wherever the Sisters are they aren’t in the continental US, or they’re not doing their time mojo anymore. And if they already know where we are? They could just as easily burn down a hotel as a restaurant.”

Sam rested his face on his hands, elbows on the book he’d been reading. Well, he’d known he wouldn’t be able to siderail Dean for long. “You go. I’ll order in.”

“No way, Sammy. Your eyes are gonna stick like that if you don’t take a break. The world isn’t blowing up – get off your ass.”

\---

“Coors,” Dean ordered from the menu at dinner.

“Iced tea,” Sam said to their waitress next.

Dean's heart gave an odd lurch.

Sure, Dean’s half-formed notions of unplanned planning were already off to a bad start since they were at a Red Robin instead of a real bar… but he hadn’t given up hope. “Still hungover?”

“What? No.” Sam folded his menu and gave it to the girl. Dean did the same, and stretched out, just one foot searching-

Sam kicked him away. "Dean..."

Dean pulled his feet back, slouching. “Watching your weight?” he pressed.

“Dude-”

“Whatever."

Sam played on his phone. Dean made a straw wrapper snake. Their food came.

Dean tried something else. He took a big drink. “Man, that’s good!”

Sam didn’t even look up.

“Seriously! This is the best beer I’ve had in weeks.” Still nothing. “You should try it.”

Sam looked up at him. “What?”

“I said you should…” Sam was doing that thing with his eyebrows again. “...nevermind.”

The restaurant was playing pop country. They made it through half their meal without Sam looking at Dean once.

He’d had enough. Dean stood with his beer in one hand and his plate in the other.

Sam finally looked up. “Where-?”

Dean nodded to the prissy sports bar in the middle of the restaurant. “I’m bored shitless, man.”

Sam hunched a bit and looked back down. “Yeah, okay.”

And just like that Dean almost sat back down again. He locked his knees. God, Sam was killing him.

Fine. Time for the better part of valor. Dean left and boldly sat right next to a blonde woman about his own age sitting at the bar alone. “Mind if I join you? My brother is boring as hell.”

\---

When Sam came out of the bathroom stall Dean was leaning against a sink. He wasn't doing anything; he seemed to be waiting for Sam.

Sam washed his hands. "Ready to go?"

Dean had his arms crossed. "What's up with you?"

Sam worked to keep a calm demeanor. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you. You're like bi-polar lately or something."

Really? Sam thought he'd kept it pretty close to the belt. When had he messed that up? "There's nothing ‘up with me’. I'm fine."

"Like hell. Look. Whatever it is, just tell me okay?"

For a second Sam almost did. He was tempted to tell Dean everything, just blurt it out. But he couldn't. Recent promises to be honest be damned. This one… he just couldn't.

Sam used the air dryer for long, loud seconds. "What happened to your friend at the bar? Not your type?" When he turned around Dean was right behind him. Dean boxed him in, hands on the wall on either side. They were different heights, but Dean still made Sam feel small when he forced eye contact like that.

Dean was studying him closely. He huffed. "Look, if it’s about the other night..." It wasn't a question.

Someone came into the bathroom then, stopping when he saw the pair of them. Sam shoved Dean out of the way and left.

\---

Dean didn't come back to the hotel until late, so late it was technically early. Sam wasn't sleeping; he was at the small table going through books they'd 'borrowed' from the University.

Dean watched his brother for a moment… then pulled the other chair over and sat at the table. Sam didn’t look up.

"I've been thinking…" Dean started.

"Hm?" Sam grunted.

"About what Clotho said."

Sam looked up then. "Yeah?"

"She said our hypothetical kids would be the ones to kick off the new apocalypse, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well… the obvious solution to all this is chastity."

Sam snorted.

Dean grinned. "Yeah, exactly. Maybe you could pull it off Blue Balls – but I'm just not up to that."

"Obviously," Sam agreed, maybe fondly.

Dean steeled himself. "So I thought of another solution…"

"Really."

Dean watched Sam's face. "Yeah."

Sam glanced away.

Dean couldn’t let him. He bent his head down, and caught Sam’s eyes again. “Look–we just have to keep our swimmers away from- from anything fertile, right? No kids.”

“No kids,” Sam agreed quietly.

“But that doesn’t–it doesn’t mean we can’t still have–fun. With, with other people.”

“Other people,” Sam echoed again.

Dean huffed. For a smart guy Sam could be so damn thick sometimes. “Yeah, Sam, other people! Other than girls, I mean.”

Sam continued to stare blankly, even as he obviously connected the dots. “You mean guys.”

Dean scowled.

Sam went back to the books on the table. “Cool. Makes sense. Have at it.”

Dean stood. His wooden chair scrapped loudly across the floor as he did. Sam still didn’t look up, so Dean reached over and shut the book.

Sam looked up then, angry. “Dude!”

“There’s a specific guy I had in mind,” Dean growled.

Sam’s face was wooden. “Dean–look, you don’t have to–you can still sleep with women.”

Dean snorted. “And wait for Fate to poke a hole in my condom?”

“That doesn’t matter–you could still… I mean, I don’t think that’s the problem.”

Now Dean was confused. “She said our kids right? Our 'sons'. That’s pretty specific, Sam.”

Sam looked away again.

Dean grit his teeth, trying to remind himself he wanted to woo his stupid brother, not punch him. “Look… I know you remember what happened. That night.”

Sam stared at his hands, deadpan. “What night?”

The silence was heavy. It was already late, pushing towards morning, but Dean grabbed his keys again and slammed the door behind him.

\---

Sam barely saw Dean after that, not for days. Just brief glimpses as Dean came back to the hotel to change. He didn’t sleep there, so Sam figured he’d taken Sam’s advice.

Fine. Great. That’s all for the best, anyway.

Sam thought about telling Dean they might as well pack it up and head back to Kansas again. But the thought of him and Dean, in the car for hours, then the empty bunker…

Instead, he went to the hotel lobby and added another week to their reservation.

Sam told Dean so, next time he saw him. Dean didn’t even look over, just grunted and left again, smelling vaguely of whiskey and smoke.

Now Sam sat on the end of his bed, head in his hands, shriveling. He sighed heavily. This was all so new, so raw; why did it matter so damn much?

He shuffled to his feet and over to his research table. He was sure there was no more to read, nowhere else to go. The only solutions to his problem he was finding now delved into deep, dark witchcraft, or demon deals. He was stuck.

But that wasn’t the priority anyway. The priority was to disarm the Fates. The rest was just… was just his shitty life.

It had been almost a week since they last tried, and Sam had nothing better to do... so he pulled out the ingredients for their tracking spell again, cleared the table, and laid down a map.

When he threw the match into the spell, the map started wrinkling for the first time in weeks. He held his breath. Slowly, it shrank down to a pinpoint… their pinpoint. Frederica, Delaware.

Heart pounding, Sam threw the map away, digging through Dean’s duffel for the other maps. He found the one he needed–the city map–and spread it out hastily. It took ten agonizing minutes to put the spell ingredients together again, using up the last of most of it. Where were they? The hospital again? Or...

He threw the match. The map wrinkled. It focused on a building two blocks away. Sam thought he knew what building it was, and why a Fate would be there.

He shot out of the room, nearly bowling over a couple on the sidewalk outside, and sprinted down the street.

\---

Dean was working on his second pitcher, not bothering with anything harder. He wasn’t depressed after all, he was angry. Yeah, angry. Because this was all Sam’s fault...

His fault Dean was surrounded by an uppity 10 PM crowd in a karaoke bar that was practically a night club and Dean couldn’t muster the gumption to leave his stool.

The least the sasquatch could’ve done was acknowledge it, right? He was the one always going on about how they need to talk about their feelings.

A shoulder brushed against his, a honeyed scent cut through the smell of beer fries and liquor.

“Hey handsome,” the girl said, more casual than flirty. Her hair was ironing board straight, but her business attire was a bit rumpled. She’d rolled up the sleeves of her button-up, and Dean suspected there was probably a suit jacket abandoned somewhere nearby. “Here alone?”

Dean took another deep draft.

“Me too,” she said.

Dean finished off his glass, feeling it burn on the way down, and turned in his seat. “Look, no offense…”

“Lisa,” she offered.

Dean grimaced. “...Lisa. I’m just not in the mood for company.”

She raised one thin eyebrow over her glasses and looked pointedly around the full room.

Dean refilled his glass. It wasn’t his fault the only other bar nearby was the one where… well, Frederica was low on getting-drunk options, that’s all.

She put a small hand on his knee. “That sounds like a broken heart to me."

Well, duh. Dean had figured that out days ago. He dumped another glass down his throat, feeling the whiskey burn again on its way down.

“Me too,” she said again. “It’s like they just don’t get it, do they? We have the chance for something real, something special. What’s wrong with that?’

Dean was surprised. “Yeah… yeah, exactly.”

“Life sucks enough as it is.” She poured them both a few fingers of the bottle that had replaced Dean’s pitcher. “Why shouldn’t we grab on to what makes us happy?”

“No reason at all.” Dean chinked his glass against the edge of hers, and downed it. He felt her hand slide up his thigh. She leaned over, and her breath was surprisingly cold on his ear.

“Well I say… to hell with them. Why don’t we see if jealousy can clear things up a bit?”

A huge hand gripped Dean’s shoulder, and he was pulled back off his stool with surprising force. For one wild second Dean thought hazily that the girl’s plan had worked ludicrously well as he was pulled up face to face with an angry looking Sam. But then he knew he was wrong – Sam was out of breath from running, and instead of anything vaguely romantic, Sam shoved Dean behind him and Dean saw the flash of an angel blade.

It thudded sharply into the bar counter, burying itself deep in the wood where Lisa had been a moment earlier.

Sam whipped the pair of them around. The whole bar had frozen–actually frozen–eerily quiet and unmoving.

The girl stood a few feet away. “Sam,” she said.

“Atropos,” he hissed.

The Fate smiled, a cruel sneer. She disappeared and reappeared a few feet to the left, and her attire had changed. She now wore a prim pants suit, blouse buttoned up her thin neck, her straight blonde hair pinned back. “Too bad,” she drawled, “a minute more and I might have known what the animal tastes like.”

“I should have recognized you,” Sam snarled, “at the bar the other night.”

“Every bar actually,” Atropos articulated cooly, and in the dim light she looked older for a second, more ruffled, more – more like the woman Dean had talked with at Red Robin.

Dean shook his head, trying to clear it. Sam turned to wrench the angel blade from the counter, but it was gone.

Atropos was behind the bar now. She held the blade in her small hands, testing the tip with a finger. “This would have hurt,” she said. “Too bad for you you missed.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sam said through his teeth. “What are you going to do about it? You need us alive.”

She looked up, and her blue eyes were lifeless, alien. “Don’t be so sure.” Time froze again, and she reappeared behind them, the angel blade gone. Sam whipped them around again to keep himself in front. Dean pushed against Sam’s arm, but couldn’t seem to find his strength. “My big sisters, they both have such convoluted minds. But I? I like to end problems.” She raised a hand in the air, reaching for something, then grabbed and pulled.

Sam gasped and staggered forward a few steps, as if yanked by his chest.

“Sam?” Dean thought he was reaching to help, but fought a dizzy spell instead. He sat hard on a stool, trying to shake it off. What was wrong with him?

“Dean!” Sam yelled.

Atropos pulled at an invisible tether hand over hand, and Sam walked jerkily towards her. “Repairing the tapestry? What does that matter? It's already ruined. You’ve tainted it, our perfect weaving, a millennia of work-! I was good at my job, cutting the threads of those who would derail fate. And you know what? I still am.” She pulled hard and Sam was stuck face to face with her, frozen.

Dean slumped back, feeling numb.

“What did you do to Dean?” Sam said stiffly, through a frozen jaw.

“That? Nothing. Some whiskey from Dionysus, and a single drop of Ambrosia… he will recover.” Atropos ran her fingers along the invisible string, as if pulling it taunt. “Clotho wanted me to lure him into fucking you, like he's supposed to. She thought you’d be breeding like beasts by now, after the gift she gave you. But I’m tired of playing matchmaker. I think I’ll let him cry over your corpse instead, when he wakes up.” She reached into her suit jacket, and pulled out a pair of long, sharp, golden scissors.

She ran the side of it along Sam’s jaw, scraping over his stubble. He couldn’t even tilt away. “There are a million ways I could kill you. But I don’t want to just watch this time. I want the pleasure of doing it myself, with my own hands. To see it drain out of your eyes.” She lowered the scissors, opening them around what must be Sam’s invisible golden thread, pulled tight in her other hand.

“We’ll just come back,” Sam grunted out, “We always do!”

“Good. I’ll be here, waiting, thinking up more ways to kill you… again and again, until my shears are stained red by Winchester blood!” Her eyes were both manic and rapturous. She ran the inner edge of the scissors up the string. It shrieked like the cord of a violin, and Sam hissed in pain. “You filthy animals ruined my life! You ruined everything! You-”

Dean’s hand closed around one sharp end of the scissors, and with the other he twisted her wrist. She howled with pain as the wrist broke, and she staggered back. She only had time to look up into Dean’s face before he adjusted his hold and drove the end of the shears up under her ribs and into her heart.

Atropos gasped. Lightning flickered under her pale skin. Dean smelled burning wood under her feet and stepped back. He had to shield his eyes as she burst into flame and died, leaving behind a singe mark on the floor and a pool of liquid gold where the shears had melted.

The bar unfroze, and the music and the noise crashed through Dean’s skull like static.

His cut hand dripped blood on the floor. He turned to face Sam, fell to one knee, and collapsed.

\---

Dean woke up slowly. He squeezed his left hand and could feel fresh bandages on it. He looked around, and saw he was in a hotel room, a new one.

“We’re in Pennsylvania.” Sam was sitting on the edge of the second bed. “You’ve been out for four hours.”

Dean sat up. He was still a bit dizzy. He groaned. “Dammit… why do gods always jump straight to roofies? Sleazy bastards.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes.

“But you did it. You killed Atropos. One down." Sam gave a small, wry smile. "The shears melted though… and my angel blade is gone.”

Dean sighed, and swung his legs out over the edge of his bed. “Okay… come on then.”

Sam looked up. “What?”

Dean waved a hand impatiently. “Come on, show me. Clotho’s ‘gift’ or whatever she did to you.”

Sam looked right down at his hands and hunched his shoulders.

“You might as well tell me. That bitch seemed to think we’d be fucking like rabbits, for whatever reason. So, what? A love spell? Is that what this is?”

“No,” Sam said immediately. Then added, “I-I don’t think so.”

“So then, what? Come on man, just spit it out. I know you’ve been hiding something. Get it over with.”

Sam spent a long moment frozen. Then, “I think we couldn’t just knock someone up. I think the apocalypse must need... Winchesters. One-hundred-percent Winchesters, not fifty. But there’s only us- and mom and dad are gone- so...” He took a breath through his nose, then continued, “She… she made it so we could… have kids,” Sam finished quietly.

"Have kids?"

"Have kids... together," Sam clarified.

Dean felt himself heating up before his mind caught on. Then it was like lightning. “You mean… what does that mean exactly? You-” Dean couldn’t help it. He looked at Sam’s crotch.

Sam saw, and closed his legs.

“Show me,” Dean barked.

Sam looked stunned. “What? No!”

But Dean had already stood up and pushed at Sam’s shoulders, down onto the bed. He reached for Sam’s belt.

“Dean! Stop!” Sam struggled, but Dean pinned him and spread his legs wide with his own knees. He used the other hand to grab Sam’s crotch and squeeze through the denim.

There was nothing there.

Sam froze where he was, both hands on Dean’s wrist, eyes wide with what… fear?

Dean couldn't stop though. He palmed the crotch, and he knew what he was feeling. "Shit Sam… why didn't you tell me? Why do I always have to hear crap like this from things like them first?"

Sam looked away again, and Dean could feel his grip shaking. "It… wasn't worth the risk."

"What?"

Sam looked helpless. "Dean… we can't."

"Why not?" Dean felt wild.

"It's the apocalypse, Dean! I wasn't going to risk it just to get my dick back! Or even so we could… could…” He turned his head, miserable. “I'm not–I can't be the one to cause it. Not again."

Dean shifted his weight from Sam’s chest to the bed. With his other hand he cupped Sam’s head, around the ear, and forced him to look back up at Dean again.

Poor kid had been dealing with this alone, for weeks. But a bit of eye contact was all it took for Dean. He knew there was no spell, no potion, no lie in this new thing, whatever it was. And he knew Sam must know it too. Hadn’t they both experienced the fake kind often enough to know the difference?

Dean went slow, and Sam shut his eyes, and Dean kissed him, in a way he’d never kissed anyone before. Harry Met Sally, Phil and Rita. No one he’d ever loved left him feeling so desperate and determined. Of course they hadn't. Who could compare to Sam?

Sam jerked away, a bit late. “Dean, don’t!"

Dean grabbed Sam’s head with both hands and frenched this time, open mouthed and filthy. Sam made a noise through his nose and his large hands gripped Dean’s shoulders, bunched up in Dean’s flannel. God, Dean felt high with it.

Now that they were here there was really only one option. Like showing up at Stanford. Like selling his soul.

But hey, if Dean was anything, he was cool under pressure. He pulled back to grin at Sam, the kind of grin he’d sent his brother’s way many times before, he suddenly realized. It was a weird feeling, realizing he'd been flirting with his brother for a long time now. “It'll be okay, Sammy.” Another kiss, up Sam’s jaw. “I’ll show you. You'll love it.”

Sam was really shaking now, like he did at his most panicked. “We can’t, Dean. Clotho said-”

“Fuck Clotho. We’ll gank her too. And besides…” Dean ran his hands down Sam’s sides, and gripped his hips. “...there’s plenty we can do without risking your poor virgin womb.”

Sam panted at that, eyes a bit wild.

Dean could feel himself smirking. He couldn’t help it. He untucked Sam’s shirt, smooth and easy, and slid his fingers up over those slim hip bones. “Don’t worry, Sammy. Just let me take care of you. I'll make it so good. You’re getting wet already, aren't you? I can tell.” He put his mouth on Sam’s ear, licking and kissing, and moved his legs to press his hips down into Sam’s. He didn’t bother trying to hold back; Sam could take the weight.

Sure enough, Sam didn’t push him off. Instead his hands slide from Dean’s shoulders down to his waist, gripping tight. Dean let him, and shifted his hips around in the grip, grinding into Sam’s new, softer equipment. He already knew Sam liked that. The way he’d moved that night, drunk and pliant, humping Dean’s thigh… Dean remembered it again with a new thrill.

Dean sucked sharp on the neck under Sam’s jaw and Sam gasped, and his hips jumped up into Dean’s. Dean knew Sam could feel Dean’s cock down there, a hard lump lining up perfect with Sam’s valley. Dean telegraphed what Sam was missing shamelessly, moving like he was inside already, and hmm'd lewdly. "Can you tell how wet you are? Does it feel weird? You're slippery with it in there, huh?" He fucked hard and Sam's ass raised up off the bed, and Sam gasped again and gripped Dean tighter, panting loudly now.

Dean slid them up into the center of the bed like that and kicked off his shoes. Then, grinning, he used his toes to push of Sam's shoes too, then their socks, wiggling and nearly laughing while Sam could barely breathe. It was fun. It would be more fun in a minute though.

Dean sat up and unbuttoned Sam's belt, loving the clink of the buckle and the zip of the fly. Sam twitched, like maybe he was going to stop him, but Dean stood on his knees and pulled those damn extra tall jeans off in one tug. Sam hunched a bit, shyly, and god it was cute.

Dean knee-walked his way between those legs, one bandaged hand on Sam's thigh as he went, and he could feel the strong cords of muscle under his fingers. He absently ran a thumb over a dipped scar, and gripped the other leg too, and looked at Sam's face, then ran his palms up the insides of those thighs. Sam's breath shuddered. Dean's fingers slipped under the edges of Sam's boxers and he dug his thumbs into that soft area right behind the tendons. Sam's ass tightened reflexively as air wooshed out his lungs.

Dean dragged his hands back down, then up again. "I wanna see. Show me?"

Sam looked dazed, and his eyebrows scrunched.

Dean squeezed, and smoothed his hands out again, but didn't go further. "Come on Sammy, please?" he growled, "I'll bet you've already looked plenty. It's my turn. Show me?"

Sam didn't move right away. Then, slowly, he pulled his legs up, arched his back, and pulled the boxers off. Dean got an unexpected flash of a dimple on his butt.

Dean kept his hands further south, Sam's knees and ankles. Sam was still scrunched up, and Dean could see his mouth was a shaky line, nostels almost flared.

"Sam, come on man, it's okay. I wanna see. Show me what the big mean goddess did huh? We'll make it all better." He grinned again, and Dean's chest swelled at the glare Sam shot him.

Dean pushed gently at Sam's knees and Sam let his legs fall open on either side of Dean's hips. Dean licked his top lip, then bit his bottom one, getting excited already.

Sam had no dick anymore. He had a thigh gap, housing smooth pink ripples. Dean could see they were a bit swollen already, and Sam's cute little clit was just visible at the top. Sam's abs were shaking under the edge of his shirt, and while Dean watched the smallest clear dot of liquid dripped out the slit, and down the edge of Sam's hard ass muscle.

Dean breathed deep and huffed it out, feeling heady. He glanced up. Sam was red in the face, watching Dean look.

"Looks like the real deal to me," Dean said. "Have you checked? Tested it out yet?"

Sam breathed through his nose and shook his head once.

"God I would have," Dean said dreamily, "first thing. But don't worry Sammy, I'll do it for you. We'll make sure everything's working properly." Dean moved his unbandaged hand up to Sam's hip and squeezed, and Sam's breath got shakier again. Dean soothed it, then used both thumbs to pull at Sam's new hole, opening it up.

It looked so perfect. Dean wanted to sink into it, feel the friction on his dick. He was throbbing just thinking about it. He ran a thumb through the bit of slick there, right over the hole, and he could plug it with just his thumb. Then he moved it up between the folds and pushed Sam's little button.

Sam stretched and seized up at the same time, and his heels pushed at the bed. "Sh-shit-"

Dean did it again, just to keep Sam squirming. "Even this? You didn't touch it?"

"'Course not," Sam whined, "Dean-"

"But it's just begging for it," Dean growled. He rubbed the clit around in circles. "What's wrong Sammy, too scared to try it yourself? Is that why you jumped me at that bar? You wanted me to help you out with this, huh?"

Sam shook his head, eyes closed.

Dean moved his other hand up to grip Sam's shaking leg. "It's okay, I'm not complaining. I'm here for you. It'll feel so good, you'll see." Dean would have bet money Sam was glaring at him again but he didn't wait to see. He leaned down and licked his way into that virgin hole with his whole mouth.

Sam moaned loud and high, like it was punched out of him, and he pushed up into Dean's face as his body tensed. Dean slid his tongue in and out a couple times, then leaned back. "Come on Sam you know better than that. Relax. Come on." He ran his hands soothingly up and down Sam's thighs till Sam's legs had unclenched again. "There you go. Try to relax into it, okay?" He leaned in again.

It took a few tries, but Sam did seem to relax a bit, and a minute later long fingers slid into Dean's hair from one of Sam's hands, and Dean flushed with pleasure. This was perfect. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to fuck. He slid one hand down to grip his own crotch. He hadn't felt this ramped up in a long, long time. Maybe ever. The same heartbeat that was thumping in his temples was pulsing through his whole body he was so keyed, and he lovingly recorded to memory every twitch and noise he got from Sam as he worked.

Long, wet minutes passed. Part of him didn't want to, but he slowed to a stop and leaned back a few inches to see Sam's face. Sam looked a wreck. He was panting and shaking all over, and sweat left lines down his face like he'd been shoveling graves instead of just lying there getting tongue fucked.

Dean gently pulled Sam's hand from his own head and brought it down. "Okay Sammy, here we go. Home stretch."

"Huh?"

Dean regretfully let go of his own cock. He'd need both hands for this. "You're soaking wet now. You're ready. Here, see?" And he slid two fingers between Sam's folds and into his warm, wet hole, deep into the inner walls. Sam gasped and blinked at the ceiling. Dean held his hand there. "I'm gonna finger fuck you now, 'kay?"

Sam moaned weakly.

"But you need to help. Here." He brought Sam's own hand down over his new clit and held it there. "Rub it good, huh?" Sam looked shocked and shook his head mutely, but Dean held him tight. "Come on Sammy, I know you know how. You have slept with girls before, right? Rub it," he ordered.

Sam's hand shook, but it started to move.

"There you go. Show me how you like it." Dean moved his fingers in and out slowly, dragging them along Sam's soft inner walls. "Clotho's a freaking dumbass. This is supposed to be a curse?" He slid a third finger in, and slowly rolled his wrist as he fucked Sam open. "Our best damn curse yet."

Maybe Sam was beyond words at that point, because he groaned loud through his teeth and his fingers sped up, like he couldn't stop himself. Dean kept up with him. "Yeah… yeah Sammy. Just like that. God you're so hot." He stabbed his fingers in deep and knew he was hitting a good spot because Sam pushed back into it as he moaned again, his mouth open as he panted sporadically.

"Dean- Dean-" he mewled, shaking all over, "I-I can't-"

"Yeah you can, come on, you're so close. Just let it happen, nice and easy." He had a hard time keeping his fingers in, Sam was squirming so much, so he gripped a leg to pin him back to the bed, ignoring his bandaged wound. His blood was buzzing too much to feel it anyway. "Here, deep in by my fingers, you feel it? Just let it out."

Sam's next moan was shaky and breathy, almost a whine. His body spasmed, and Dean felt it happen. Those new kegel muscles tightened around his fingers and Sam stiffened. His breath froze in his lungs as he came and oh god, Dean felt like coming with him, just imagining it.

Sam's eyes were watering, and he whined again as he shook through the orgasm, almost desperate for air. Dean fucked him slow and gentle now with his wet hand, helping him through it while Sam trembled. "There you go. That's it. Perfect. Felt so good right? It'll be even better next time, hugging my hot dick inside you."

Sam was a watery mess, but he still mustered the strength to shake his head. "We- we can't. Dean, we can't." His eyes rolled up as Dean gave his swollen clit a good wet kiss and lick, then Dean slid up Sam's long body to do the same to Sam's mouth.

He unashamedly put his sticky, slick covered hand in Sam's sweaty hair, gripping Sam close to him. "I don't care. You'd better kill the other two quick because I'm not waiting, Sam- next time-" He humped his crotch into Sam's, and kissed him again.

\---

Sam woke up sore, and sticky from dry sweat. Dean was a hot presence behind him on the bed. Sam flushed hot, remembering what they'd done hours before, and any chance he had of falling back asleep flew away.

He'd put up with hearing about his brother's sexual prowess his whole life – mostly from Dean, but not always – but holy hell. His knees still felt weak with it. Was it always like this for girls?

Sam slid out from under the blankets, and flushed again as he felt how slippery he was in… in there. Was that normal too? He had no idea. After he finished in the bathroom doing sitting down what he'd have normally done standing, it took a few handfuls of toilet paper to wipe it all away. He was really just… soaking. And heating up again, remembering how it had felt.

He thought about crawling under the covers again, but didn't quite have the nerve. So he went to look through his notes on his new laptop.

And an idea occurred to him.

\---

Sam was so focused he hadn't heard Dean pad over behind him at the table, but he felt Dean stick his nose into his hair. "Mmm," Dean sniffed, "you smell like a bitch."

Dean laughed, and Sam shoved him away. "Come on Dean… we've got work to do."

Dean went to the kitchenette for coffee. "I donno, I was thinking we could work on something else today instead."

"Huh?"

"Your stamina." Dean waggled his eyebrows over his mug.

Sam rolled his eyes. Great. Was this how it was going to be now? "Dean, focus. Clotho?"

Dean made a grumpy, exaggerated noise, and dropped into a chair. "What about her?"

"Well I don't know if you noticed but you murdered her sister. She'll be after us now."

"Yeah I guess. Lachesy or whatever too."

"Lachesis. But uh… I'm not sure she will."

"What? Why not?"

Sam hesitated again. But he didn't see a way around it. So he told Dean about meeting Lachesis in the hospital-

"You _what?_ " Dean shouted. He nearly spilt his coffee.

"I had to!" Sam yelled over him.

"You-"

"I was worried I might be- be carrying already."

That floored Dean a bit. "You thought you were already pregnant?"

God this was all so mortifying. "It was a possibility. Immaculate conception."

"Immac-" Dean groaned, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "And?"

"And I'm not, obviously. She said that's outside their power. And that she isn't participating in Clotho's plan."

"That doesn't mean she'll just sit back and watch us murder her family."

"No… probably not. But now that you're, um…"

"Now that you've finally fessed up?" Dean supplied.

"Yeah, um, now that we're on the same page, I have a new plan. During research, did you read the story about the Fates and the midwife Galinthias?"

"Yeah?" Dean said. Then Sam saw the idea dawn on Dean's face too.

\---

They were supposed to be getting ready. But as soon as Sam left the research table, Dean had attacked him instead. Now Sam was pinned to the hotel wall, and they were making out like teenagers... one part romance and cute hesitation, and two parts filth. Dean was smaller than him, but not by much, and he was well outside the weight class Sam was usually used to. It made him feel freaking tiny the way Dean could manhandle him.

Well, Dean had always seemed larger than life anyway. Or maybe he just _was_ Sam's life.

Dean's big hands slid from Sam's waist, up his chest, and thumbed Sam's nipples through his shirt. Sam squirmed and moaned into Dean's mouth, but Dean just pinned him harder and kept tweaking. Then he shoved a thigh between Sam's legs, and come to think of it Sam's knees were feeling more like liquid than bone, so he let himself sink down and wrapped his arms around Dean's neck.

\---

An hour later Sam slammed the hotel door open so hard it bounced off the outside wall and back into Dean's face as Dean followed him out. Sam stomped angrily into the parking lot, still pulling on his shirt, feet stuffed in unlaced boots. "Dean, I told you a thousand times – we can't go there! We can't do this! God _damn_ it!"

Dean slammed the hotel door behind him. He was barefoot, in his boxers. "It was an accident!"

"An accident? How the hell does that happen on accident? We're not fucking thirteen!" He shoved Dean in the chest, and damn him, he only moved back a step. Freaking brick wall. "This is the apocalypse we're talking about, Dean!"

Dean shouted back, incredulous. "I know that! I'm not stupid, Sam!"

"Could have fooled me," Sam spat out. "What are you gonna do if I'm pregnant, huh?"

"Come on, it was like, the littlest bit. If you really were, that would be some kind of- of-"

"Cruel twist of Fate?" Sam supplied.

"Oh come on you can't say those bitch sisters have some sort of superhuman control over my swimmers, that's just-"

"But that's exactly what they have, Dean! That's what they've been doing for thousands of years!" Sam turned to leave, searching his pockets.

"Sam what- where are you going?"

"Pharmacy."

"Why?"

"To get some 'morning-after' pills, obviously."

Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulder. "No- no Sam, don't, I mean if- if you are, then-"

Sam whirled around, and punched Dean square in the jaw. Dean fell back so hard his feet left the ground. Sam found the Impala's keys, got in, and peeled away, spitting up gravel as he went.

\---

Walgreens had a shocking amount of pills to choose from, as well as some 'before' pills he should probably be on anyway, just in case.

"Do you need help, son?" a woman in a green apron asked.

"Yeah. My uh… my girlfriend sent me, but I don't know which-"

The woman smiled. "Oh dear. You'll want to hurry, then." She reached up onto the shelf to one of the ones in the back he couldn't even see properly, expertly extracting it from the busy shelf. "This is the best one. Though don't be too surprised if it doesn't work. You may also want one of these, just in case." She pulled down a pregnancy test kit from the neighboring bay with a toothy smile.

Sam grabbed them both and put them in his little basket, feeling a bit icy inside. "Yeah. Thanks." He also turned and, after a moment's hesitation, grabbed some condoms too.

The shop attendant chuckled behind him, then gasped.

"Don't move," Dean growled.

Sam set down the basket and turned around.

Dean had the woman's arms in a grip behind her back, and an angel blade pressed against her throat.

"Trickery!" the old woman spat out. Her shopkeeper facade was slipping fast, her hair graying and pulling out of its bun, her teeth yellowing and nose elongating.

"Yup." Sam's angel blade was gone, but he pulled out something else he'd forgotten that they had: one of Artemis' arrows. "You Fates are powerful, but you're not omniscient. Like with the midwife Galinthias, whose lie fooled you into allowing Heracles to be born. We figured if we faked me getting pregnant you'd show up to protect it." He toed his basket. "So what'd you really give me, huh? Sugar pills?"

"Treacherous slimy beasts! You dare-"

Dean twisted her arm harder. "Of course we goddamn dare. We've already ganked one of you, right?"

"Yooou scum!" she hissed. "You may hunt your own twisted mutant monsters all you like – vampires, werewolves, ghosts, what do I care – but to dare to kill the gods themselves!" Her hair was rising into the air like electricity. "That is my birthright! They are mine! You think you've saved anything? You destroy everything you touch!"

Dean pulled the knife closer, and a drop of wine-red blood dripped from her neck. "That's enough of that. Now you listen. You're going to lift this stupid curse thing you've put on us."

But a thought had just occurred to Sam, looking at the arrow in his hand, and he cut Dean off. "Wait… is that what all this is about?"

"Huh?" Dean looked up at him.

"This is about Zeus, isn't it? We helped kill him." He looked up at Dean, too. "Remember what the lore said? He and Clotho had a thing once."

Dean made a disgusted noise. "You've gotta be kidding, that's what this all was? We ganked your boyfriend?"

Clotho yelled, and her voice had power, pushing at them, knocking things off the shelves. "You pigs! You swine! You-"

Sam leapt forward, and brought down the arrow like a dagger.

And buried it into Lachesis' chest.

The shock of her sudden appearance made Sam and Dean stagger back. Lachesis had appeared in front of Sam instantly, her arms spread wide to take the blow intended for Clotho.

"Lachesis!" Clotho wailed.

Lachesis gasped in pain, her long curls falling from their pins, her punctured lung weasing horribly. She clutched at the arrow, but smiled a little and looked at Sam. "F-forgive me. She's my big sister." She gasped again and fell to her knees. "But Sam... I could tell it was a lie…"

"What-?" Sam asked, shocked.

"When you said–said you wouldn't kill me." Then she gasped once more and lay still, lightning gathering under her skin.

Clotho shrieked her rage. Sam and Dean were both blasted off their feet as shelves crashed around them, and Sam heard the windows at the front of the building shatter. "I'll kill you all!" her many voices echoed, "I'll kill every last crawling mortal on this forsaken rock! I will burn the world to embers!"

Sam scrambled to find his feet among all the small boxes and bottles on the floor, but instead felt a crushing blow as an entire shelf was dropped on his back. He felt more things crashing on top of it as her rage threw objects at them both. He heard a loud crack, and looked up through the piles of things to see cracks in the ceiling appearing. If that caved, they were dead.

With great effort he threw the shelf off, and got to his feet.

Dean was stuck under the remains of a twisted shelf and the tipped over blood pressure machine. Sam ran to help him, but found himself lifted in the air and slammed against one of the walls, where he remained pinned by an invisible force.

Clotho approached him like an angry cloud, everything blowing out of her way as she stalked forward. Pill bottles from the pharmacy were circling around her like a magnetic field. She grabbed Sam's chin when she reached him. "Zeus, Atropos, Lachesis-!"

"What are you going to do about it?" Sam grit out. "You don't have the shears anymore. They're gone."

Clotho grit her teeth so viciously that it might have been a death threat. "I'll kill you myself. This is the last time a Winchester will ever cross me!" Some of the lids burst off of the bottles circling her. "You will choke and die on your lies, like the poisonous filth you are!"

Sam felt some invisible power pull at his jaw, opening his mouth. The open pill bottles flew to his face, waiting, and he couldn't fight it. His teeth were being pulled apart.

"First I will burn your brains from your bodies," she hissed, "and use your flesh to birth my warriors. Then I will help the Arch Angels burn this world to cinders. Every man, woman, child, tree and ant until all that is left is the water and the wind and _me._ "

A handful of pills as large as a golf ball was forcing itself down Sam's throat, and he couldn't breathe. He heard more shouting, and more crashes, and her laughter, and passed out.

\---

"Sam! Sam!"

Sam was on the ground, on his side.

"Sam, throw it up! Now!"

Dean was shaking him, but Sam felt too weak. Then something stabbed into his mouth and jabbed the back of his throat–Dean's fingers?–and Sam jerked and wretched, and rolled over just in time for his whole stomach to turn inside out onto the tiled floor.

Pills littered the puke, capsules warped but still recognizable. It can't have been that long then.

"That's it, thank christ-" Dean's hand was there, and then it wasn't.

Sam looked around blurrely, sounds echoing weirdly around him. He realized the fight must still be going on. Clotho's many voiced shrieks were still tearing through the bangs and crashes in the store. He saw Dean get smashed into a display of electronics, and Clotho now had her long pointed spindle – more like a spear, from this close – and was pointing it at Dean like a wizard's staff.

Sam knew he was beat. He could barely roll over, and his vision and organs swam loosely inside his body. He tried to force his brain to work. What could he do?

His eyes settled on the ceiling.

He groped with a numb hand at the small of his back and pulled out his pistol, crossed his eyes to get the fissures running through the cement into focus, then fired his whole clip right into the deepest crack.

There was a terrible rumbling noise. Sam wondered vaguely if he had enough feeling left in him to suffer when he was crushed. He thought Dean was out of the potential crush zone though, against the far wall. That was good.

Clotho looked up when a few bits of stone bounced off her head. She was right under the worst of it. It gave way then, large cement boulders crashing towards her, and she raised her spindle.

Nothing happened. Sam got one look at the shock on her face before she was buried in rubble, and dust filled the air.

" _Sam!_ "

Huh, Sam had been right. He was too numb; he didn't feel a thing.

"Hang on Sam! I'm coming!"

Sam heard rumbling as boulders continued to settle, but they were joined by more crashing sounds. Must be Dean.

Well Sam should probably help him. Sam coughed out dust and sat up.

There were chunks of concrete everywhere around him… almost exactly around him. Not a one had landed on him though.

He looked over to where Clotho had been. Through the dust he could see the pile she was under was heaped as tall as a man; and it was on fire, her remains burning away just like her sisters' had.

"Sam!" There was another crash as Dean moved rocks to get to him.

"I'm here, Dean! I'm fine." He stood up. His vision swayed though, so he sat down on a piece of rubble.

Dean came scrambling over the piles of shelving and debri, and froze when he saw the fire. "Clotho?"

Sam nodded. "I saw her, Dean. I think she tried to freeze time, but it didn't work. She was crushed."

"But you- are you alright?" Dean slipped a bit on pebbles, bent over to check on Sam, hands running over his head and arms looking for wounds.

"I'm fine. Not a scratch. I was there." Sam gestured at the blank spot where he'd been lying. It was even shaped sort of like a man. "I don't get it."

Dean looked at the spot, then at Clotho's pyre – which was dying out – and smirked. "Must have been fate."

\---

They were halfway home to Kansas by the time Sam woke up in the back seat and muttered, "Pull over?"

Dean had no idea what junk that bitch had shoved down his brother's throat, but it was only in Sam's stomach a few minutes, and Dean was just grateful that Sam was on the mend so quickly – sure, he was vomiting in the bushes again, but it could have been way worse right?

Dean slapped Sam on the back and handed him a water bottle when he stumbled back to sit on Baby's hood next to Dean.

"So?" Sam asked, a little croakily, "What now?"

"Huh?"

Sam was looking at his water bottle. "I mean…" he gestured vaguely between the pair of them.

Well that was freaking obvious. Dean stood up, and boxed Sam in, hands on the hood around him.

Sam looked startled, and worried. It was kind of cute. "But what about, you know, the family curse? Zeus' curse was broken when he died, but-"

Dean kissed him to shut him up. It was sour, like old puke, but still so freaking sweet.

Dean knew it was possible Sam had got his dick back when they killed Clotho, or that they might get it back some other way some day, but he pulled down those jeans anyway.

He whispered sweetly into Sam's hair while he got Sam ready with his fingers, sharing things that can only be said during moments like this: like how much he actually loved Sam's hair, how hot he looked against Baby's black finish, how much he loved touching every part of him, and what the hell was he thinking trying to drop a building on himself huh? Stupid, brave bastard. Then he added, almost without thinking, "And if there is still a curse, so what? Look what Fate had in store for us... and look at us now. Any kids of ours would kick destiny's ass."

Dean felt Sam's insides tighten at that, accompanied by a hot, wet sigh.

Dean grinned. "You like that idea huh? You want me to put a baby in you Sammy? I'm down for that. I already raised one little hellion, didn't I? This time we could do it together. You be the mommy I'll be the dad-"

"God, just shut up and fuck me, dumbass!" Sam yelled.

And as Dean finally sank into that hot embrace, Sam spread out on his Baby's hood, rocking her shocks with his hips, it was everything he'd ever dreamed of and more. They were alive, they'd killed another baddy, and Sam was his. What the hell else mattered?

**Author's Note:**

> Random fun facts: the Fates can't shapeshift, they just age and de-age themselves. The rattle Dean heard in Sam's bag was prenatal vitamins, not asprin, bc if Sam's pregnant he's gonna be extra healthy about it. Dean really wanted to use the magic time-traveling British Men of Letters grenade launcher, I just couldn't find a good enough reason to (sorry D.) Dean was bumping Sam's pool cue, but so was Atropos, trying to get Sam hammered (which worked.) Atropos resorted to Olympian whiskey and Ambrosia, even though Ambrosia would actually make Dean stronger, bc she'd been trying and failing to get Dean drunk for weeks; his alcohol tolerance is just too freaking high. No wonder she snapped right?
> 
> Really, Clotho's plan only failed bc she picked the wrong Winchester to give the pussy to. Sam knew to keep his mouth shut, sneaky bastard. If it had been Dean he would have outed himself that same day, and probably been knocked up by the weekend haha :)


End file.
